


Father's Day

by agentz123



Series: Who is Donald Duck? [2]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Dad! Donald, Father's Day, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, Twin Bond, aged-down characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentz123/pseuds/agentz123
Summary: A set of young triplets celebrate their uncle.
Relationships: Della Duck & Donald Duck, Donald Duck & Dewey Duck, Donald Duck & Huey Duck, Donald Duck & Louie Duck
Series: Who is Donald Duck? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890283
Comments: 9
Kudos: 122





	Father's Day

It was very quiet.

He took another sip of his frozen coffee, his hands shaking. The coffee pot had grew another crack, and they were out of tape, so he had made the batch by hand. It tasted worse than usual.

It was too quiet. 

Suddenly there were loud screams and the sounds of webbed feet slapping the deck behind him. Donald sighed and relaxed. 

A card was shoved into his hands, forcing half of his cup onto his shirt. 

“Happy Dad’s day, Uncle Donald!”  
“Huey and I made this for you!”  
“And I supervised!”  
“Louie supervised!”

Donald gazed at the lovely sheet of crumbled paper in his hands. There was a drawing of the four of them, all holding hands and standing on the head of what appeared to be a shark. He traced their crayoned signatures as he took a moment before speaking. “T-thank you, boys,” he quacked. He felt himself go red, and he cleared his throat. “But...I’m not your father. I’m your uncle.” He had been drilling that into their heads ever since they could talk. _Uncle_ Donald. Not Da-da. Not Dadnold. Not anything like that. Della would be home any minute now, and she could tell them that their father _actually_ was -- 

“We _know_. That’s why we changed the name!”

He knew it was cheating, but Donald quickly nodded in understanding and allowed himself to have this. “I’m going to put this in my special place.” The boys beamed as their uncle stood from his deck chair and made his way into the boat. 

Donald reserved his special place for items he could not afford to lose. It was the ultimate protection against his bad luck. Whatever had happened to the boat, everything in the special place survived it.

The triplets watched as their uncle pried a few floorboards that laid underneath his battered hammock. He gently pulled out a dull cobalt metal box that was covered in dents and scorch marks. They inched closer as he opened it up and shuffled a few items around. Most of it they recognized: Huey’s first report card with straight A’s, a racecar Dewey had won from a claw machine and had gifted to Donald, a styrofoam cup from Louie’s first lemonade stand. But there was something unfamiliar peering out from underneath a set of black mouse ears. Louie reached down and plucked up a frail piece of paper. It was so old it was yellow, even brown in some places. It was a drawing of a smiling plane and an angry boat holding hands, one of the few things Donald had managed to salvage from Killmotor Hill years ago. 

“Who drew this?”

There was a jealous demand before he could answer. “Do you have other nephews?” 

“No. My -- your mom drew this, actually. When we were little, like you.” He thought for a moment. “Do you want it?”

"No way."  
“Really?”  
“You mean it?”

He really did. 

“Can you put it in the box?”  
“It’s called a frame, Dewey.”  
“Can you put it in the frame?”

Uncle Donald nodded and headed to the kitchen for nails and hammer. A bright “can we hammer?” nipped at his heels. 

“No. It’s too dangerous.” Before he had to face pouting beaks, he asked, "But can you help me find the perfect place for it?" 

A few minutes and a few purple fingers later, Della’s artwork hung proudly next to the boys’ bedroom door. The sun’s rays beaming through their porthole made the photo seem golden.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Donald's boat has blown up and been eaten by shadows and lost to the sea, but let's let him have this one thing. Okay?


End file.
